


The gift of a world

by Morbane



Category: Exiles - Melanie Rawn
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, F/M, Falling In Love, Foreshadowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7173230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbane/pseuds/Morbane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not the first meeting between Maichen Ambrai and Auvry Feiran, but a pivotal one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The gift of a world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shewhoguards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoguards/gifts).



They were on a balcony overlooking Ambrai's gardens, though perhaps with their backs to the night's view. Tonight, for the feast of St Maurget, Maichen's mother had thrown a gala to honour that Saint's patronage of artists and jewellers. Behind Maichen Ambrai and Auvry Feiran, in the lighted hall, several hundred glittering people strolled around tables that glittered even more fiercely: spread with the work of every artisan in Ambrai worthy of recognition by that Name.

Her companion had had the sense not to compare her beauty to the works of art. Perhaps that was why she stood with him at the window - briefly - before mingling in the hall.

Auvry Feiran was of a proud Name, but not a Blooded one. He was a Mage, yet at a remove from the Academy. He was a traveller, but conducted himself with perfect, urbane manners, in which youth's passion and experience's polish seemed to combine. He had fascinated her since she danced with him at St Delilah's ball. 

But for Maichen to linger with him now would to give him a false impression of her feelings. Her place was at the centre of the party - because it was her duty, and because it was where she wished equally to be. She loved _people_ far more than any one _person_ ; an individual might command her attention, but had never yet captured her heart.

She and Auvry weren't truly alone, of course, any more than they were in the dark. The hall's candles did little for the Ambrai gardens, but they reached the pair at the balcony, casting sufficient light for them to see each other, and for others to see them.

Auvry Feiran held himself with perfect propriety, careful inches apart: she imagined, that in the silhouette they made against the night, the gap between them was drawn with as much precision as a calligrapher's brush stroke.

He was looking at her. She looked up at the stars.

"Did you ever have a star of your own," she asked him, knowing her trained, modulated tone gave a dignity to words that were otherwise, perhaps, a little childish, "one you looked for and named, one you belonged to as much as your name-Saint?"

She knew he had grown up far from the city, by a lake; he had spent years on the road besides. On him, the stars must have a greater claim.

"No," he said, as casually as she. "Which is yours?"

"There," Maichen pointed. "Sevassir, the Flame to Miryenne's Candle."

In two weeks, as the days shortened, the whole constellation would be visible at full dark, in time for the feast of the Guardian Saint. For now, only the yellowish star that made up the Flame was visible in the east immediately after sunset.

St Miryenne was the patron of Mage Guardians, not First Daughters. She wondered if Auvry would find her choice incongruous; his claim on this star certainly eclipsed hers. But he looked intently at it.

He reached up his hands to it. "I'll give it to you," he said, his tone soft and clear.

She didn't ask him what he meant. She didn't have to. She watched as the star brightened, beckoned. It grew larger, and then it seemed to also grow nearer. He called to it, and it came to them.

It was an illusion - of course it was. Whether Sirrala's Diamonds, or distant sister-suns, the stars were untouchable by anything mortal; but even the concept awed her with its daring.

The star drifted closer. Her sense of perspective distorted; she could not tell how near it was to her, this newborn flame, almost too bright to look at but, she realised, at a fraction of its true fire. The shape of the world around her seemed to have changed; she felt as though she were standing on air.

The vision had been conjured for her and him alone. There were no shouts behind them in the hall as the star-globe, as large as a house, descended to hover above Ambrai. The gardens were lit; the shadows were as sharp as those cast by a full moon, and yellower, but somehow no warmer. She glanced sideways: Auvry Feiran was looking not at the star, but at her. At Maichen Ambrai under his own starlight.

There was no strain in Auvry's breathing or his posture. She wondered how far he meant to take his demonstration, then had the answer: her own hands, lit white-yellow, were outstretched in front of her.

"Enough," she said softly, when the lowest bound of the star dipped below the level of the window. She let her hands fall to her sides.

Auvry Feiran took in one sharp breath, and then the star and its light dimmed as though a veil dissolved, or sank down through water, leaving only the surface of the ordinary world.

Maichen stared into the night without speaking until her vision was entirely clear, and then looked at him again. "Thank you," she said. At that, an expression that had almost been a smile curved very slightly into a true one.

"Will you escort me back?" she asked, and with perfect manners, he extended his arm to her and they turned back to the Hall.

He had wished to impress her, of course. She was no stranger to that ploy. It was unusual for a Mage to court a First Daughter - except that the Mages' Captal was a great friend of Maichen's mother, and so Maichen had already gently rejected several young men who had attempted to make their best showing with illusions and charms.

But all these callow youths had attempted to call something from her at the same time they called forth their magic - admiration, surprise, fear, awe. Auvry had simply found a wish his magic could fulfil and filled it. Anticipatory only of her command. She _was_ impressed.

Going to bed that night, she let herself remember his words, _I'll give it to you_ , over and over again, before she dreamed.

She never dreamed that one day, the worst thing she could say to him would be, _Enough_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks ever so much to NightsMistress for beta comments and encouragement.


End file.
